Boundaries and Limits
After requesting a ten-day leave, Dang Mujin secluded himself in his room.
During this time, the news of Hong Gyeong-gae’s passing spread, casting a heavy pall over Mount Wudang. The atmosphere was so somber that even Hwa Yeon-shin and Sam An-bul, who usually snuck around for secret trysts, chose to lay low.
Jang Il-nam, the Blood Rain Guest, was visibly heartbroken. He had vowed to avenge his lover and return to his life as a Blood Rain Guest, yet he remained the same compassionate Jang Il-nam. He swung his sword alone, simmering in his anger.
Watching Jang Il-nam train, Hwa Yeon-shin and Sam An-bul whispered to each other.
“It feels even gloomier now than when dozens died in the last battle.” “I agree.”
There were several reasons for the particularly heavy atmosphere on Mount Wudang.
After the last battle, people had celebrated driving out the demonic cult. But now, there was nothing to celebrate. Although they had managed to injure the cult leader, it wasn’t a story that resonated with many. Namgung Myung didn’t emphasize or elaborate on it either.
Moreover, after the battle, everyone was too busy tending to their wounds to properly mourn the dead. But now, there was no urgent need to heal quickly or gather their strength. They had the emotional space to mourn the warriors who had died in service.
There was also a sense of guilt mixed into the mourning for Hong Gyeong-gae. A guilt for not having properly honored the other deceased. This unresolved guilt and remorse found an outlet in mourning Hong Gyeong-gae.
The most sorrowful on Mount Wudang were undoubtedly Hyun Gong and Namgung Myung.
Hyun Gong was tormented by the unexpected loss of a long-time friend. There was also a small part of him that lamented the loss of a carefully cultivated connection. After all, Hyun Gong’s last evaluation of Hong Gyeong-gae had been a mere nineteen points.
Hong Gyeong-gae was a dear friend, but also one of the top five most important connections in Hyun Gong’s network.
Namgung Myung was even more despondent than Hyun Gong. He believed he bore the greatest responsibility for Hong Gyeong-gae’s death.
Namgung Myung’s self-reproach was so severe that Dang Mujin interrupted his short seclusion to visit him. Dang Mujin pointed to Namgung Myung’s left arm, or rather, the stump where his left hand had been severed.
“Namgung Myung, should I make you a temporary prosthetic hand?”
But Namgung Myung flatly refused Dang Mujin’s offer.
“No.”
He hung his head low.
“How could I wear a new prosthetic? I’m not that shameless.” “What does that have to do with being shameless? Without a left arm, wielding a sword must be incredibly difficult.”
Namgung Myung didn’t use a prosthetic to grip his sword.
Occasionally, when in a playful mood or during training sessions, he would use a prosthetic to wield a sword. But in life-or-death situations, he rarely relied on it. The prosthetic couldn’t exert proper force, and trying to use it in the heat of battle was a waste of energy.
Yet, Namgung Myung still needed the prosthetic. For martial artists, maintaining balance is fundamental. Without the prosthetic, Namgung Myung’s balance was severely compromised, which wasn’t just inconvenient—it could be life-threatening.
Dang Mujin knew this, and Namgung Myung knew it even better. But Namgung Myung was resolute.
“I can handle the inconvenience.” “Even for you, it’ll take time to adjust.” “That just means I’ll remember Hong Gyeong-gae longer. It’ll remind me of my shortcomings every moment…”
In this situation, one unintended victim was Gwang Yeol. Once inseparable with Jo Ho-beop, Gwang Yeol was now keeping a low profile, avoiding any mention of Jo Ho-beop or Yeon Sak.
After ten days, Dang Mujin emerged from his brief seclusion.
The first thing he did was look for Namgung Myung.
“Where’s Namgung Myung?”
Hyun Gong, who was nearby, answered.
“He went to Suju. Said he wanted to check if the cult leader and the great protector were there.”
“Really? We’ll head to Suju tomorrow, so we should meet him the day after.”
The conversation flowed as expected.
Hyun Gong’s real interest wasn’t the schedule but the results of Dang Mujin’s seclusion. Hwa Yeon-shin, who was lingering nearby, also observed Dang Mujin closely.
Typically, after seclusion training, one would show noticeable progress, but Dang Mujin seemed unchanged.
However, it wasn’t unusual for Dang Mujin to show no outward change. He was on a different path from other martial artists, so conventional standards didn’t apply.
Hyun Gong asked directly.
“Did you make any progress?”
“I did. I created a martial art that’s both a healing technique and a poison art, but also a hidden skill.”
A description as grand as his martial art. A panacea that strengthens the body and relieves fatigue.
“A grand explanation. You must be confident in its power if you made us wait ten days.” “The power is certain. But there’s one problem.”
“What is it?”
Dang Mujin looked sad.
“This martial art will eventually be lost.” ”…Why?”
“Because no one will be able to learn it now or even a hundred years from now.”
Hyun Gong nodded in agreement.
‘Indeed, it will be lost.’
Whether anyone could learn the martial art Dang Mujin created was one thing, but no one would want to. Any sane martial artist would choose to master the sword, the king of all weapons, over strange skills like hidden techniques or poison arts.
But Hwa Yeon-shin scoffed.
“Confident, aren’t you? Mixing poison arts with healing? It’s essentially a hidden skill. With my talent and dexterity, I could easily master a hidden skill. It’s too early to talk about it being lost.”
Dang Mujin shook his head.
“You won’t be able to learn it. It’s a martial art only I can perform.” “Really? Well, with that kind of confidence, I suppose you had a reason to delay for ten days.”
Hwa Yeon-shin smiled approvingly. Dang Mujin continued.
“Actually, it wasn’t just for that reason.”
“Was there another reason?”
”…I had hoped to show it to Hong Gyeong-gae someday.”
The next day, nearly thirty people set out for Suju.
They were all in good health and highly skilled. Not a single person in the group was burdened by doubt. They were truly elite.
Among them were five top-tier masters.
Dang Mujin, Hyun Gong, Hwa Yeon-shin, Sam An-nang, and Namgung Jin-cheon. Including Namgung Myung, who had already left for Suju, there were six.
Since it was certain that Jo Ho-beop would be in Suju, Gwang Yeol was left behind.
Facing Jo Ho-beop would be uncomfortable for Gwang Yeol, and there would be suspicions if he followed them to Suju.
Manryeokseung stayed behind to keep an eye on Gwang Yeol.
In truth, it was more about waiting for a chance to kill Gwang Yeol. Manryeokseung still harbored a deep grudge against him.
If circumstances had been slightly more relaxed, or if Manryeokseung’s thoughts had been a bit more settled, they might have already had a life-and-death duel. The tension between Gwang Yeol and Manryeokseung was that severe.
However, despite Manryeokseung’s intense hatred, he wasn’t yet capable of overpowering Gwang Yeol.
Thus, Jang Lim-dam of the Blood Rain Pavilion also stayed behind. Manryeokseung had requested someone to help subdue Gwang Yeol if he acted out.
It took a day and a half to reach Suju. There was no point in rushing, as a fight was likely to break out soon, and moving faster would have been more harmful than beneficial.
When they arrived near Suju and an hour had passed, Namgung Myung appeared and approached the group.
“You’re here?”
Hyun Gong greeted Namgung Myung and asked.
“Yeah. What’s the situation with the enemy?” “As expected. Jo Ho-beop is there, but the cult leader and the great protector aren’t.” “That’s good news.” “But we need to hurry.” “Why?” “The enemy is almost ready to retreat.” ”…So it comes to this.”
In the last battle, the demonic cult had the upper hand. They had fewer people, but their average skill level was higher, and they had the advantage in the top-tier master battles.
Of course, if the forces from Sichuan had fought alongside them at Mount Wudang from the start, the outcome would have been very different. But at the time, the Tang clan had no choice. They couldn’t predict which direction the demonic cult would move or how many would come.
But now, the forces of the righteous sects had gathered as one. Although they had lost Master Yeongmun in the last battle, the balance of power had shifted in their favor. The righteous sects boasted nine supreme masters, while the demonic cult had only three. Even though the cult leader had reached a level beyond supreme mastery, no one believed he could overcome the sheer numbers alone.
To make matters worse for the cult, both the leader and the chief protector had vanished. While the cult still held an advantage in terms of lesser fighters, the outcome seemed inevitable.
Given the circumstances, the cult’s warriors had only one option left: retreat to the mountains and regroup.
Hyungong addressed the group. “Let’s move.”
The party headed towards the cult’s hideout.
Dang Mujin glanced at Namgung Myung. Unlike the somber figure he had seen at Wudang Mountain a few days ago, Namgung Myung seemed almost excited.
Hyungong spoke to Namgung Myung. “I hear Dang Mujin plans to show us something impressive today.”
“Probably just some flashy swordplay,” Namgung Myung replied.
“No, I heard he’s mixing in some hidden techniques.”
“Still, it’s Dang Mujin. Maybe he’s just added a little flair to his moves.”
As they whispered among themselves, twenty-nine warriors from the righteous sects stopped five paces from the mansion’s gate, listening intently. The mansion was eerily silent.
Namgung Myung and Hyungong exchanged words. “There’s no way they haven’t noticed this many people approaching.”
“They must be on high alert.”
Even without seeing, they could imagine the scene inside. Unlike the previous encounter at Wudang Mountain, this time, the righteous sects were on the offensive. Despite the cult’s numerical superiority, could their leader alone fend off six supreme masters from the righteous sects? Impossible.
Could the cult’s warriors, united, take on the supreme masters of the righteous sects? Equally impossible. Both sides knew this.
Dang Mujin smiled. The cult’s warriors, leaderless and cornered, must be trembling with fear. Yet, they weren’t entirely without hope. Not all twenty-nine would engage at once.
Only Dang Mujin, Namgung Myung, and Hyungong stood at the gate.
Namgung Myung deftly sliced through the latch with his sword, and the gate swung open, revealing a line of cult warriors staring back at them. In their midst stood Jo Ho-beom.
Dang Mujin led the way inside.
The cult warriors, though slightly hesitant, were ready to face the intruders. As soon as Dang Mujin stepped through the gate, an ambush was sprung, a blade aimed straight for his heart.
The sword came first, followed by a shout. “Destroy him!”
Thanks to his foresight, Dang Mujin narrowly dodged the attack. ‘That was close.’
Though he barely evaded the strike, to the terrified cult warriors, it seemed as if he had done so deliberately, with mere inches to spare.
Dang Mujin didn’t draw his sword. Instead, he pointed a finger at the attacker. “Kill him.”
As the rumors among the cult had suggested, the ambusher fell dead.
Someone murmured, “The Poison King…”
Many cult warriors didn’t know Dang Mujin’s face, but none were unfamiliar with the infamous title. Now, they all knew who he was.
Dang Mujin surveyed the room with a calm demeanor. Hyungong’s voice echoed in his ear.
Dang Mujin didn’t respond, and a faint unease crept into Hyungong’s expression.
The cult warriors eyed Dang Mujin’s group with deep suspicion. Out of nearly thirty, only three had entered?
Jo Ho-beom, standing among the cult warriors, asked, “Why only the three of you?”
Dang Mujin shook his head. “We’re not here to fight.”
Jo Ho-beom’s face lit up with hope. “Then why are you here?”
Dang Mujin replied, “To collect a head to honor a friend’s memory.”